There's No Accountin' For Taste
by ApollaCammi
Summary: Written in response to gen's challenge on DL Chem. Danny, Lindsay and Flack pull a very... strange case. Rated for language.


A/N: Par for the course – these characters do not belong to me.

So, this fic came about as a result of the challenge thread on the D/L Chem fandom site, and is based off generalnothingness' challenge, which says the fic must:

**Include/Take Place:**

-At a crime scene

-The line "Well that can't be comfortable"

-The objects:

a sock

the Kama Sutra

a watermelon

an autographed picture of David Hasselhoff

With no time or word limit

And here it is!

---

**There's No Accountin' For Taste**

"Whoa Montana, you really know how to pick 'em."

Lindsay glanced over her shoulder at Danny, bagging the fibers she'd found on the vic.

"What's that supposed to mean, Messer?"

He was looking at a framed photograph, shaking his head in disgust.

"C'mon Montana, he was practically _askin'_ for it," he held it up for her inspection. "I mean, Hasselhoff?"

She looked at the picture, stifling a giggle at the pose the actor was striking and the signature scrawled across the bottom.

"No accountin' for taste," Danny said mournfully.

"Danny, we are at a _crime scene_," Lindsay hissed, trying desperately not to laugh.

He looked around in feigned surprise, "Why Miss Monroe, I believe you're right."

She shook her head in exasperation. Sighing, she gave up.

"Are you done photographing the room?"

"Yep. You done with the body?"

Lindsay frowned. "Almost. There's something wrong with this picture, though…" she panned her flashlight over the bed, "Never mind."

Danny wandered over and glanced over her shoulder. He whistled.

"Our vic's been a busy guy."

"I'd say that's a pretty astute observation, Messer," Flack said, walking into the room, "A canvass of the street reveals that there were a lot of unknowns in and out of Mr. Ryan Tate's house – all of them female. The neighbours don't have a clue."

"Well, we've got lots of DNA," Lindsay murmured as Danny began swabbing the sheets.

"Yeah, no kidding," Flack deadpanned. He glanced over at the nightstand and his eyes fell on the book on top. Wandering over, he flipped through it.

"Well, that can't be comfortable," he said aloud, his eyes widening.

"What can't be comfortable?" Lindsay asked. Flack held out the book for the two CSIs to see. Danny's eyes gleamed. "Ah, the Kama Sutra, my favourite book."

Lindsay looked at the page dismissively. "Well, it works better if you twist your hands the other way, Don."

The two men stopped and stared at her. She shrugged.

"What? I lived in Montana, not a nunnery."

Danny smirked. "Didn't know ya had it ya, Montana."

She rolled her eyes.

"Keep dreaming, Messer. Is Stella still outside, Flack?"

"Yeah, she's interviewing a few of the bystanders."

Lindsay placed her evidence bags in her case and stood up. "I'll head back to the lab with these and meet you when you're done collecting DNA?"

Danny nodded. "Sure thing, Montana."

-

Stella eyed the younger woman as she hurried down the stairs of Tate's house.

"Alright Lindsay Monroe, what's gotten into you?" she asked, seeing the blush threaten to overtake Lindsay's entire face.

"Nothing."

Stella stared at her.

"I… may have corrected the Kama Sutra in front of Danny and Don?"

Stella laughed, "Was this from personal experience?"

"Maybe?" she squeaked, still bright red.

"Oh honey, Danny's never going to leave you alone now."

"What? What do you mean-" Lindsay's words were cut off when Stella suddenly dragged her to the right, and a watermelon landed right where they had been standing, spraying them with fruit guts and surprising a shriek out of Lindsay.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"Watermelon bomb," Stella replied wearily, "The kids in this neighbourhood think its great fun to drop fruit on people walking by."

"Stella? Lindsay? Are you alright?" Flack and Danny appeared in the doorway.

"We're fine, Don," Stella said, "It was just a watermelon bomb."

Flack swore.

"Those damn kids, I'll get 'em-"

"Don," Stella interrupted, "What are you going to charge them with? Attempted assault on an officer with a deadly fruit?"

"It's a good start."

Stella laughed. "No one got hurt Don, just let it go."

"Hey, Montana," Lindsay turned in surprise. Danny had used Stella and Flack's conversation to sidle up beside her.

"You got some gunk right about… here," he told her, wiping off her cheek.

"Thanks, Danny."

"Soo… the Kama Sutra, Montana?"

It surprised a laugh out of her.

"Leave it alone, Danny."

"But-"

"Leave it alone, Danny."

"Fine."

"We should get back to lab. I need a shower, and we need to process all this evidence."

"Hey, Montana?"

"Yes, Danny?" she turned to look at him.

"You need any help washin' your back?"

"No, Danny."

He shrugged, a smirk playing around his mouth. "Worth a shot."

"Hey Danny?" she asked, hopping into the driver's seat.

"Yeah Montana?"

"You're catching a ride back with Flack," she told him, pulling out into traffic before he had a chance to retort.

---

"Now, Montana, that wasn't very nice," Danny said as he entered trace.

"Neither is sexually harassing your partner," she retorted, grinning.

"You loved it Montana, admit it."

"What do you want, the shirt, sheets, pants or socks?"

"Are they yours?"

"Ryan Tate's."

"I'll take the shirt," Danny moved to the other side of the table as Lindsay pulled the pants towards her and started working on the shirt. They worked in relative silence for a few hours, only taking a break when they needed to stretch or to move to the microscope to check a fiber or miniscule trace. Stella dropped by a few hours later and knocked on the door.

"Hey, Danny, Lindsay. We've got initial DNA results back – there are six fresh samples, all female, all different."

Danny nodded. "Fits with what I got here, Stell. Traces of lipstick and makeup on the shirt, an' none of 'em are the same brand."

Lindsay sighed. "I'm glad you have some concrete evidence. All I've been able to find are a few hairs, but they're consistent with the length and colour of the victim's hair, so until Adam has time to run them we're going to have to assume they belong to the victim."

Stella nodded.

"It's possible," she glanced down, "You still have the sheets and socks to finish processing?"

"And we have to go down to the morgue and get the cause of death from Sid."

"I'll flip you for it," Danny offered.

"Morgue or trace?"

"Morgue."

"Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

Stella offered Lindsay a quarter.

"Thanks, Stella," Lindsay said quietly, watching the coin flip over in the air. She caught it and grinned. "Have fun in the morgue, Danny."

"Have fun with your smelly socks, Montana," he winked.

She frowned and delicately sniffed at the socks after he left, "Oh, that's gross."

Stella smiled sympathetically and left Lindsay to her work.

---

"Danny! Danny!" Lindsay popped out of trace and yelled his name down the hall. "Adam's got a name!"

"Who is it?" he asked, following her down to DNA.

"Adam wanted to tell us in person," she frowned thoughtfully.

"Adam, whatcha got for us?" Danny asked, leaning against the lab tech's desk.

"Okay, well, I had a lot of DNA to go through, you know," he started nervously, "So I started off with the blood on the clothes, since I already had a reference sample from the morgue. There was one drop of blood that did not belong to Ryan Tate, which was on the sock, a weird place, I admit," he held up a hand to stop them from interrupting, "and then I ran the lipstick and vaginal samples, which all matched up to the same six girls, and the hair that you found on Tate's pants, Lindsay. The hairs matched to one of the girls as well, and she was in the system for a prior – her boyfriend attacked her she fought back, except she landed him in the hospital while she only had a few cuts. Her name is Vanessa Madigan."

Danny grinned, "Thanks, Adam," he turned to Lindsay, "I'll call Flack and we'll go pick her up."

"I'll meet you in Interrogation."

---

Vanessa Madigan was very pretty, Lindsay thought. Petite, shorter than her, with a funky pixie cut, she was a bartender at one of the college clubs. Vanessa didn't even look old enough to be out of school. But her defiant stance and belligerent stare said she knew her way around the inside of a police station.

"Vanessa, do you know Ryan Tate?"

"Yeah, I know 'im," she crossed her arms and looked away, "So?"

"When was the last time you saw Tate?" Flack probed.

"Last night."

"Did you know he was sleeping with other girls?" Danny asked, leaning in close. "Probably right after you left?"

"It was before I got there, and yeah, I knew," she shook her head, "Ryan was cute, but twisted."

"Vanessa, what happened to your cheek?" Lindsay asked, pointing to the small cut on her face.

"Ryan was a little… enthusiastic. We hit the wall."

"I don't think that's what happened, is it Vanessa?" Flack continued.

"Ya got sick of Ryan screwing around on ya, confronted him about it-"

"-and when he said he could just find another girl, you killed him, didn't you, Vanessa?" Lindsay finished for Danny.

"My last boyfriend wasn't no prize either, ya know," Vanessa snarled, "But Ryan – he was a twisted bastard. Thought the six of us were great fun, especially if he could have us all together. Oh yeah, we knew all about each other. 'Cept then – he said he was ready to slow down a bit, dropped Rebecca, then Justine," she shrugged, as if it didn't bother her, "I was his lead girl then. He asked me to move in. Came back early one day, found him with the rest of his harem. Waited a while, pretended I didn't know about it, and came home just when the other girls were leaving. He was so blissed out that he didn't start putting up a fight 'til I stabbed 'im. Scratched me, here," she pointed to her cheek, "-but that was it. It was easier than putting that bastard Rich in his place."

"Lock her up," Flack told the officer standing by the door. He let Danny and Lindsay exit first.

"You think you've seen it all," he muttered, "and then shit like this happens. And I thought it was bad when Mac and Stella caught the committed threesome case."

"Hell, the only thing the people in that relationship should be committed to is a mental institution," Danny muttered.

Flack looked at Lindsay, who had yet to say anything. "And you're telling me Monroe, that it was a sock? A goddamn sock that broke this whole case open?"

Lindsay looked at them and smiled.

"Sometimes, Don, there's no accounting for taste."


End file.
